FathersStory's Blog

(For those of you who have been following this blog, thank you.  And my apologies for the delay in updating this.  But you will see the reason why at the end of this posting.)

 

            What to do?  2,000 miles away, and my wife calls to tell me she’s taking Stephen to the hospital, on New Year’s Eve.  Stephen had his one day of chemo treatment for the week earlier in the day.  The nurse did some blood work, and for the most part, everything was okay.  But there was one possible red flag.  Stephen’s white blood count was low.  That wasn’t unexpected.  We were told at the outset that in each three-week cycle of treatment, the white blood count would be low in the third week, and he was at risk of infection.

 

            Stephen received his treatment, with the caution that if he developed a fever or felt ill, we should call the doctor right away.  So that nixed any plans of his to go out on New Year’s Eve.  But he called several friends and invited them over.  My wife and he then ordered food for the get-together.

 

            Then Stephen said he wasn’t feeling too well.  My wife took his temperature and he had a fever.  Those were the warning signs we were told about.  My wife called the oncology office where Stephen was being treated, and fortunately, the doctor Stephen was seeing was on call.  He told them to go to the hospital.

 

            Once Stephen got there, he received an oxygen mask and an IV.  He also got a shot in the arm to increase his white blood count.  He received another shot in the stomach, of all places, to prevent clotting.  His white blood count started rising, but he still had to stay in the hospital at least for the next day.

 

            In the meantime, I’m in California, wondering what I should do… and waiting to hear from my wife.  Tom and I got something to eat, but I couldn’t eat anything.  I figured the best thing to do was to go back to the hotel.

 

            Once I got there, my wife called and said Stephen was fine.  He had to stay in the hospital at least for the next day, but he had been stabilized. I asked my wife if she wanted me to come home.  She said no, stay out there and be with Tom.

 

            So I went to sleep, concerned about Stephen, and knowing it would be a short night.  I was encouraged to get up early on New Year’s Day, shortly after 4am, to get a parking spot at the Rose Bowl, then walk to the Tournament of Roses parade.  Remember, I had a media credential that offered me limited access, so my purpose in going early was not only to get a parking space, but also to try to buy a ticket for a seat at the parade.

 

            I quickly found out that wasn’t going to be the case.  My media credential did get me through several checkpoints so I could get to the front of the parade route.  At the beginning of the Tournament of Roses Parade, before the marching units get in view of the TV cameras, it’s just like any neighborhood parade.  People put out blankets and chairs in front of their houses to secure their viewing spots.  And there was enough room on the sidewalk to get a good view, if you found the right spot in between the trees.

 

            I found such a spot in front of a house that had several rows of chairs on the parkway, and I stood in back of the last row of chairs.  It was soon afterwards that the owner of the house came out to add some chairs or wipe them off.  After he made a couple of trips to and from the house, I made a comment to him about trying to achieve feng shui with his chair arrangement.  Fortunately, he saw the humor in my remark and we started to talk.  He asked about me, knowing I had some affiliation with Illinois because I had a U of I baseball cap on.  But when I tried to answer, the words wouldn’t come out.   I couldn’t say the words that my son, being treated with cancer, is in the hospital.  And I told him how this was to be a family vacation.  I had to stop several times as I was telling him all this, to keep from breaking down.

 

            He listened intently to me, offering words of support, and he invited me to be included in his parade viewing party.  I tried to decline, figuring he had all the seats accounted for, but he insisted.  So I sat in the last row.  He offered me coffee (That early in the morning, it was chilly, even for southern California.) and something to eat.  And he was as hospitable as he could be, periodically checking on me to see if I was okay.

 

            His gesture of kindness was very touching.  And the people who sat around me were very understanding as well.  Afterwards, he invited me in with the rest of his group to partake in an extensive brunch.

 

            I stayed for a brief time and thanked him for his kindness.  His name was Scott Fellows, and he was so nice to me.  That’s something I have remembered often since it happened.

 

            As I waited for the parade to start, I talked with my wife.  She said Stephen had a good night, and that she would be seeing him later that day.  She watched the Rose Bowl with Stephen in his hospital room.  One of his uncles was there as well.

 

            As they were watching the game (which wasn’t great from the Illinois point of view, though still a spectacle to see), Stephen started pulling at his hair, and some of it started to come out.  Well, it was Day 16 since he started his chemo treatment, and we were told that it was about this time that his hair would start coming out.

 

            By the next day, Stephen was released from the hospital, and he was home by about mid-afternoon.  With the new development with his hair, he decided to shave his head.  When I got home from California that night, my first sight of him was with a ski cap on.  It would be a fixture of his wardrobe for the next couple of months.

 

            Next, more chemo, and a new look.

 

(The reason there’s been a delay in the updates to this blog is that my father became ill and was hospitalized soon after the last entry was posted.  His condition worsened, and he passed away last week.  We buried him today.  But writing this after all that had happened has helped me cope with his passing.  So I thank you for your patience, and I ask that you remember my dad in your prayers.)